


To Foster Boldness

by Find_a_Way



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/M, First Time, Shelagh is a bold girl, Turnadette - Freeform, turnadette smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-22 04:53:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16591181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Find_a_Way/pseuds/Find_a_Way
Summary: With the wedding still far off, Shelagh searches deep within herself for the boldness she will need to bring her love for Patrick to the next level.





	To Foster Boldness

“Patrick?” Shelagh called down the hallway. There was no response, but she could hear clanging sounds coming from the kitchen. “Sorry I’m late, dear, I stopped at the market and picked up a few things—you’re out of everything. I hope all you’re making is tea,” she joked as she hung up her winter coat and headed to meet him.

She was greeted by two long legs sprawled on the floor, Patrick on his back, his upper half hidden in the cupboard beneath the sink. 

“What on earth are you doing down there?” She asked. She crouched to peer into the small space.

“Ooph!” A muffled sound greeted her. “Sorry, Shelagh, Clinic was over a bit early, so I thought I’d fix this slow drain before we went to visit Tim. Give me two ticks!”

“Really, Patrick, you could have asked Fred to take a look. He’s a dab hand at clogged drains.”

Two feet tapped the air in irritation. “I’m quite sure he is, dear, but I’m no slouch in the plumbing department, I’ll have you know.”

Shelagh bit the grin back. “Of course, Patrick.”

She wasn’t certain, but she may have heard a Harumph in response. She was already learning that Patrick’s skills in healing did not extend to home repair, but she knew better than to tease further. She pulled out a chair and settled down to wait.

“The trap is...almost...loose...just a bit…”

Suddenly,the rusted nut came loose, sending the spanner out of control. Water streamed from the pipe. “Bloody hell!” He sputtered. “Shelagh, the bucket! Pass it over!”  
She jumped quickly to his bidding and handed the metal bucket to him.

Blindly, he grabbed for it. “I can’t see—there’s water and funk everywhere. Hand me the towel!”

She reached for the square of white cotton. “Don’t open your eyes until I’ve cleaned you up properly. Come on then, do you need a hand?”

He pushed out from under the sink, his eyes squinted shut tight. His hand came up, reaching for her. “Don’t pull me up, I’m too heavy. Just mind I don’t crack my skull on the cupboard.” Awkward limbs untangled themselves as he rose from the floor. 

Assured he wasn’t truly harmed, Shelagh was glad he couldn’t see her smile. “Here, dearest. Take my hand, there’s a chair right here. Sit with your head way back and I’ll clean you up in a jiffy.”

“I didn’t close the tap. If you’re careful, just open it a bit to get the towel wet.”

She shook her head in resignation. Fred would have closed the taps. She checked to make sure the pail would catch any water that ran down the open drain, then dampened the dish towel. 

Patrick sat quietly in his chair, his head tilted back, and for the first time she noticed that while he was still in his suit trousers, he had removed his tie and shirt, wearing only his sleeveless cotton vest.

She’d never seen him in such a state of undress. She sensed the heated flush begin to color her cheeks.

Her forehead knit in self-reproach--she’d seen patients in far less. She pushed the confusing emotions to the side and stepped around his knees to clean his face.  
It was dirty water, mostly, nothing to worry about. Whatever had clogged the drain must have followed the drain trap as it flew across the cupboard and missed him. Gently, she wiped the wetness from his face. 

He was in no danger of something getting in his eye, but still, she lingered. He looked younger this way, his eyes closed and his breathing slow. She turned the cloth to a clean side and made long strokes over his skin. Smoothing his eyebrows into sleek black lines, she skimmed over his angular features, taking full advantage of this chance to study him. She loved the contrariness of his features, the long worry lines edged by crows feet of laughter, the eyes soulful yet pragmatic, and she resisted the urge to sigh.  
The cotton rasped against his jawline, an afternoon shadow already darkening the skin there. Her touch became even more light as she moved to his sharp temples. The thin skin there beckoned her to press a kiss and she struggled to keep her breathing under control.

He must have noted the difference, for he whispered, “Shelagh, love? All clear?”

His voice came from far away. She swallowed thickly and took a step back. “Yes.”

He made a joke, probably to ease the tension in the room, and left his seat. He bent to peer into the cupboard, then reached into a deep corner. She watched as his shoulders flexed, then let her gaze trace his back. In this position, his trousers pulled tight against his backside, and Shelagh flushed more deeply, shocked by her own thoughts. She tried to look away, but could not, and a warm glow began to rise up from deep inside her.

“I’ll get this plug back on and tighten it later.” He stood and teased, “I don’t suppose Fred would’ve made such a mess! Look at me!” He pulled at his vest. “This one’s ruined, for sure.” He tugged the wet cotton free from his trousers and pulled it over his head, then turned back to the sink. The tap sputtered open and he put his head under the cold water.

“There’s no time for a bath if we’re to make visiting hours, I’m afraid. Hand me a clean towel, would you?”

Shelagh faced him, stunned. The quick flash of his bare chest forced all air from her lungs, and her hands twitched with an urge she didn’t fully recognize. The muscles of his long, lean back flexed as he rinsed his head, oblivious to her state of confusion. He straightened and reached out for the towel.

As he dried his head, he casually turned to lean back against the sink. “Thank you for the groceries. I think the milk is about to turn.” He came out from under the towel.  
He straightened to his full height. “I’ll change into a clean shirt and then we’ll head over to hospital.”

Her silence drew his attention. “Shelagh?”

Another wave of heat come over her, this one fiercer than the last. The temptation became too strong to resist and she took a step forward, close enough to rest her palms against his sides. She swallowed thickly, her teeth catching her lower lip.

Patrick’s mood changed immediately. He dropped the towel and reached out to cup her face. Gently, he grazed the soft curves of her cheeks and temples with the tip of his nose and she wondered if he meant to give her time to calm herself or to stir her even more. For long moments, they stood like this, silent as the intense anticipation grew between them. When his breath warmed her ear, she gave in. Stretching up on her toes, she slid her hands up the length of his back to pull herself tightly against him and pressed her lips to his.

His mouth was soft and firm at the same time, pliant to her intimate demands, and she deepened her kiss. Their mouths opened to one another, building up a fever far hotter than Shelagh had ever known before.

A soft moan rose up from within her, and she knew she needed more. Splaying her hands wide so as to feel as much of him as possible, she grazed her fingertips up and down his spine. She paused when they brushed against the light hairs just above the back of his trousers, wanting more, but unsure. Patrick groaned, and cupped her bottom in his hands as he pulled her hips tighter against him. He was hard against her belly, and deep inside her, a muscle trembled. 

Shelagh’s gasp of surprised delight broke the kiss, and he made a sound of protest. She stared into his dazed eyes and saw her own passion reflected there. Without breaking eye contact, she grazed the back of her fingers over his sides and abdomen, up and down in light strokes. He sucked in a sharp breath as she let the tips dance over the soft skin there, teasing higher and higher. 

“Shelagh,” he groaned, pulling her tight against his hips. Her hands climbed higher, her back arching to give herself better access to the smooth lines of his chest. His eyes dropped to breasts, demurely covered by her plain brown dress and in that moment that she felt naked before him. Her nipples hardened at the thought of his hands on her, just as hers were on him now. The ache grew, the need for contact growing so intense, and she moved against him. Her arms wrapped about his neck and she kissed him again, hot and wet and wanting.

The doorbell rang out, three solid trills bringing them back to reality. Slowly, they separated, both confounded by the minutes before. Patrick gained awareness first.  
“They don’t sound like they’ll go away,” his voice was husky. “I’m not sure I’m fit for visitors.”

Another trill forced her to the present. “You stay, I’ll see who it is.” 

She stepped away from him, intent on pulling herself back together, and found herself silently reciting a psalm. As she headed for the door, she glanced up at her reflection in the mirror. Her face reflected back, flushed, but otherwise all as usual, and not a hair out of place. 

*******

 

Patrick opened her car door. His face was lined with concern. “Are you sure you don’t want to go out for dinner? I’m certain we can get a table somewhere, there’s no need for you to cook, Shelagh.”

She took his outreached hand. “I’m simply not in the mood for a restaurant tonight, Patrick. You’ve that ham steak in the icebox, it won’t be any trouble to fry it up with some eggs.”

He nodded his head, and Shelagh’s fingers itched to smooth the dark forelock of hair that fell forward. He was already guiding her to the flat entrance, however, and she smothered a sigh. 

Thank goodness for Timothy, she thought. Not since that first drive along that misty road had she been so grateful for the boy’s enthusiastic chatter. His therapy was finally starting to show real results, and he was full of big dreams for coming home. If he hadn’t noticed the adults were more quiet than usual, who was to blame him?  
The ride home had no such distractions, however, and the silence grew awkward in the car. Perhaps a dinner out would mask the strangeness between them, after all. She watched as he unlocked the door, unaware of how her gaze traced the planes of his face. She studied his jawline and recalled of how its rough texture had tingled her fingers just hours ago. It was darker now, shadowed by the late day stubble that roughened his cheek. She swallowed thickly. 

He kept his eyes on the landing as he opened the door and led her in without speaking, his usual good humor muffled. Her eyebrows drew together and creased her forehead with concern. Silence had built walls between them before, barriers they had both struggled to take down. Had one unexpected moment of passion recreated that barrier?  
He helped her as she shrugged out of her coat, his every move courteous and solicitous, yet she could sense an undercurrent of tension. She needed a moment to think.

“Patrick, I’ll get dinner started. Why don’t you run down to the corner shop and get some cigarettes? You were saying how you’re running low, you’ll never last through an off-duty Sunday if you don’t.”

He seized the chance, and she hid her frown. “If you’re sure? I’ll just be a moment!”

He hastily turned back to the door, then stopped. Without looking back, he said, “I...I let things go too far today, Shelagh. It was wrong of me. I give you my word I’ll never treat you so disrespectfully again.”

The door closed behind him.

All the air in the narrow hallway seemed to disappear with him. Disrespectful? Is that how he thought of what happened between them? She flushed from the remembered sensations he had stirred deep inside her. Never before had she known such an ardent desire as this afternoon. And truth to be told, it would take very little for her to feel the same again.

But if she were completely honest, she realized that of course Patrick would think she was worried. Before Christmas and Timothy’s bout with Polio, nearly all physical contact between them was limited to hand-holding and a few chaste kisses. Her new place in the world was precarious and uncertain then, and the complications of sexuality had confused her. Patrick knew she was struggling to settle, and gave her space.

Today, she had stepped tight into that space, with no warning or clear direction for either of them. She had muddied the waters, and now he worried that he had done damage. It would be up to her to clear things up.

With the same courage that stood by her when she reached for the telephone that fateful day, she left her things in the hallway and made her way to his bedroom.  
Dim yellow light pooled on the bed, and without thinking she tweaked the curtains closed. Her heart thundered in her chest. Nerves began to overtake her. What was she even thinking? All that happened this afternoon was a bit of intense snogging. 

She bit her lip as confusion twisted across her brow. There was nothing to fear from love, she knew that, and she truly believed the physical expression of love was a blessing from God. Yet she hadn’t realized how intensely she would respond. 

Hesitation had been her worst enemy. The fearful lies she had told herself only served to deepen her pain. It was only after embracing her new choices that she had found happiness. 

She nodded her head, certain of her decision. Patrick would understand, he always did. They would test the waters together.

***

Just a few minutes later she heard the click of the front door. She turned away from the mirror, a tortoiseshell hairpin in her clenched hand, and waited as his footsteps reached the kitchen.

“Shelagh?” His step was tentative, and she knew he was worried she had left.

“Here,” she called softly.

He came closer, and she clenched her hands before her. He turned into the doorway and came to a full stop. 

She stood before him, hair released from the controlled twist and resting on her uncovered shoulders. She wasn’t sure how she had conjured the courage to undress, but she was glad she’d taken off her glasses. Unable to focus on his blurred expression, she could, for this tiny moment, pretend she had done nothing so daring as step into his bedroom. She could pretend she hadn’t removed her dress and stockings, that she hadn’t turned down the covers on his bed, that she wasn’t standing before him in this silent plea. She could pretend that in one moment they would exit to the kitchen and share a pot of tea.

The silence pounded in her ears, threatening to overwhelm her. How had she dared? What must he think of her? She curled her hand in a tight fist around the tortoiseshell hairpin. A memory of another time stirred, and she knew the cold pressure of a telephone against her skin, his voice in her ear telling her to wait for him. The roar in her ears calmed and her courage returned. She could be brave now, just as she had the morning she called him. He had opened his heart to her and made a place for her.

She stepped closer to him. She did not need to focus to see how his eyes glittered with emotion. 

Her voice was a feather floating across the last few feet between them. “We have to make our own rules, remember, Patrick?” Another step brought his face into focus. “Let’s not let fear make our decisions for us.”

His mouth opened and closed as he struggled to find words. She giggled at the sight, then slipped her arms around his neck, waiting for him to tilt his head to meet her mouth. He offered no resistance, yet remained passive in her embrace. 

Certain, Shelagh kissed him. Her lips whispered across his, searching the sculpted lines and softness. Still, he remained passive, as if he were unsure of himself, but when the tip of her tongue began to dart sweetly from her now-parted lips in gentle exploration, he groaned, then pulled away.

“Shelagh,” he breathed.

“Hmmmm?” She answered, parting enough to tug his lower lip between hers. 

His hands clamped tightly to her hips and he tried to make space between them. “Shelagh, we mustn’t…” 

“Yes, Patrick, we must.” She peered up from beneath her lashes, dimples deep in her cheeks. “Don’t you see, we’ve already made a start.”

Her sweet confidence broke through his resistance. His breath escaped as a hiss of laughter. “That’s my girl.”

There was no hesitation in his eyes when he bent to kiss her, and she met his lips with a fierce desire. All else slipped away but the feel of his arms wrapped tightly about her, his body hard against her, his mouth soft and hot. His tongue caressed intimately against hers, then withdrew ever so, and she accepted the invitation to explore beyond his lips.  
Her body ached for more and the bloom of passion made her bold. She pressed herself tightly to him, thrilling at the feel of her breasts against his ribs. A small moan escaped her throat, followed by a small cry of surprise as he pulled her up against his hips. His obvious desire inflamed her. “Yes,” she whispered. 

Together, they crossed the few feet to the bed and Patrick lowered her to the mattress. She scooted across, making room for him, and shifted to her side to face him. Their eyes locked for a long moment, a sharing as intimate as a kiss, and she reached out to caress his cheek. “I love you, Patrick. I resisted for so long—I tried to convince myself that I could smother these feelings. Even when I understood their power, I hesitated. I know my path now. Fear, or-or-worry, or what other people think, cannot be my guide.”  
She leant close and kissed him gently. “We’ve already learnt so much together. I’m ready to learn more.”

They kissed again, and his hand slid over the curve of her hip. “We’ll take this slowly, Shelagh. We have the rest of our lives to learn from one another.”

She nodded, and kissed him again. She pulled back with a giggle. “Maybe not so slowly, Patrick. You’re a bit overdressed, don’t you think?”

He let out a short laugh, then kicked off his shoes. “We’ll let the rest wait.” He shifted his weight, turning her to her back, and pressed his mouth to her throat. Trailing a kiss along the curve, he paused at her pulse point and sucked the skin lightly. Her back arched in response. 

“You like that?” He whispered. He moved to her jawline and repeated the action, then darted his tongue out to taste the sensitive skin behind her ear. Her soft moans were all the answer he needed. 

His hands explored her body, gliding over the thin cotton of her slip. The more he touched, the more she wanted, and she shifted her body with each stroke to give him more access. Her fingers tangled in his hair as he moved from her throat to her mouth to her face and she delighted in the heat that simmered deep in her. He released her lips to kiss her shoulder, his hands stroking the top of her thigh, and when his hand slipped beneath the hem of her slip, her breath escaped in a tiny gasp. He paused, pressing his nose against her downy cheek. She had no words, but the unconscious tilt of her hips towards him told him all he needed to know.

Somehow, his hands were different to her now. The gentleness she had always known—since long before she loved him—was intensified by a new energy. As he squeezed the smooth skin just below her bottom she felt him imprint himself on her, body and soul. This was more than simply a physical touch. This was a physical union.  
The thought made the heat deep within her intensify, and she wrapped her leg over his. Heat coiled at her core, and she pressed against him in an attempt to sate this strange yearning.

“Bloody hell!” His moan blew hotly over her ear. He tugged at her slip, bunching it in his palm as he exposed more of her to his touch. 

It wasn’t enough. His hand trailed against her hip bone, gliding up the curve of her side, and she wanted more. Deep, wet kisses silenced her sighs and he stroked his thumb over her belly, teasing her and coaxing her to more at the same time. Her leg squeezed more tightly about him. His hand hovered over her ribcage, cool against her hot skin. Inches away, her breasts ached for his touch. Why wouldn’t he touch her? Would he—

“Please!” she gasped aloud. 

His lips twitched against her throat, then nipped at her pulse. He raised his face to hers, their noses nearly touching. “Do you want this?” he whispered, and cupped her breast in his palm. For a moment he was still, then began to gently knead the soft flesh through the fine layers of her undergarments. “Is this what you want?” 

Her back arched, thrusting her breast more firmly into his hand. This new ecstasy took her voice and she moaned. He answered with greater pressure against her puckered nipple, then rolled it between his thumb and forefinger, his gaze on her face in the dim light.

She had begged for his touch, but somehow, she was still not sated. He kneaded and teased with hands no longer so gentle, but she wanted more. She pushed him away and sat up from the bed, yanking her slip over her head. She had no idea where it went, she simply needed it off. Deftly she unhooked her brassiere and shrugged it off as well.  
For a moment, she faced him as he lay against the pillows, the light from the street outlining the swell of her breasts, her nipples tight buds. There was no shame, no embarrassment. For over ten years she had dressed beneath a cover, bathed with her own eyes averted, yet now, in this moment, she gloried in his gaze upon her naked form.

“Oh, Shelagh.” His husky voice made something clench deep between her legs. He sat up and took her face in his hands. “You’re beautiful.” He kissed her gently as he lowered her to the bed. 

Out of nowhere, she giggled.

His eyebrow cocked. 

“I seem to be much more prepared for the occasion than you do,” she explained. She rubbed the fine cotton of his shirt.

“I’ll teach you to giggle at me, my love,” he laughed, and his mouth took hers.

Instantly, the passion reignited within her. She threaded her fingers in his hair and met him kiss for kiss. He shifted his weight, and the sensation of cloth against her naked breasts made her gasp with pleasure. With each breath the fabric rasped across her nipples, sending pulses of heat through her body. Still, it was not enough. She needed something more. 

When his hand covered her swollen breast, she moaned, a sound that was deep and primal. His palm grazed her skin, stroking and squeezing until finally he reached the rosy peak. He teased it more, tweaking and tugging between his thumb and forefinger. She was no longer a rational being. There was only the sensation of his touch and her desperate need for more. 

She throbbed against him, thrusting her breasts up to him, begging for something. A ragged breath shuddered through him and he bent his head to her. As his lips closed around the pale pink bud that tipped her breast, she cried out wordlessly. Yes! The word shook her. This was what she had been begging for. 

He kissed her, dragging his lips back and forth over the sensitive tip as his tongue flicked it, a velvety caress. As he kneaded one breast, he tasted the other, sure to divide his attentions equally. Her fingers threaded in his hair, holding him to her, wanting this and more and her body began to rock gently. Her thighs clamped tightly together, rubbing together with each sway, and as her whimpers became moans, he released the pink nipple and took her mouth. Her kisses were hungry, fevered, and her hands clutched at his shoulders. 

He lifted his head from hers and gazed down the length of her. He trailed his hand over her, mapping the swell of her breasts, the smooth, flat tummy, the dip of her waist, and paused at the elastic band of her knickers. Naked before him, she gloried in the desire glittering in his eyes. “Yes,” she breathed an answer to their unspoken question. Tentatively, he slipped one long finger under the edge, sending a shock of heat through her whole body as he stroked the smooth skin there. Her body froze with sudden knowledge.

In the dark of her lonely rented room, she had imagined loving him, letting him take her as a husband takes a wife, but this she was not prepared for. She had imagined their joining, discovering together the fulfillment God had gifted to lovers, but in those fevered, solitary fantasies old habits took over and stifled her passion. She had been left with vague impressions of what could be, but never this conflagration.

Now, with the man she loved, she knew she could never be prepared for this first time and yet she knew no fear, no uncertainty, and she opened herself to him.  
His hand inched lower, allowing her to grow accustomed to its weight against her. Slowly, he let his fingers follow the curve hidden between her legs. Applying a light pressure with his palm he began to rock his hand against her. Her breathing grew slow and deep, all her concentration focussed on the pressure building up from deep inside her and she began to move with him. 

He kissed her throat, his tongue stroking her pulse. Her hips bucked in response and she released a breathy moan. Her legs parted slightly, as if asking for more, and he followed her lead. Fingertips stroked over the short, damp curls, stoking the heat. Her breath began to quicken, and he kissed her deeply. As his tongue stroked the velvety softness of hers, she let out a moan and he slipped one finger between her silken folds. 

“Oh!” she cried out, her head thrown back. 

Her thighs opened to him, allowing him greater access as she rocked against his hand. Her breath quickened, escaping with short, high pitched gasps. There was nothing but the building heat and the pressure coming from beneath his hand. 

He shifted, and his thumb stroked over her inner folds as he began to whisper in her ear. “Let it take you.” His fingers were slick with her desire, gliding over and over her sensitive skin, and when his thumb pressed against the tight bundle of flesh just beneath her curls, she gasped again, this time a low groan of need. He rolled the nub in tight circles and slid his long finger into her.

She orgasmed almost immediately. Overcome by a maelstrom of sensations, she surrendered to the waves of ecstasy. Her breath, her heartbeat, her every thought disappeared and her whole existence was centered on the pulses of rapturous bliss brought on by his touch. Perhaps an eternity passed of this silent rapture, when suddenly the blood rushed through her veins and her lungs filled with air. Her eyes opened, and her return to the present was complete.

Without speaking, Patrick laid back against the pillows and pulled her to his side. His hand made light circles against her damp skin, soothing her as her body quieted. Pressing a light kiss to her temple, he whispered, “That’s my bold girl.”

She giggled lazily as her breathing returned to normal. She pressed closer to his side, crossing her leg over his. Her hand smoothed over his shirt, the silk of his tie gliding over the back of her palm as she toyed with a button. 

Her eyes widened in a sudden realization. Patrick was still completely dressed. 

She lay in his arms, clad only in her knickers, her body sated by an explosion of passion, and he was still wearing his tie! How could he be so unchanged? She bit her lip in confusion. She had fully expected to consummate their love tonight. Instead, Patrick had introduced her to new pleasures, but had not pushed for more. He had given her a precious gift, with no thought to his own needs

He sighed deeply. “It’s still early. Let’s stay like this a bit longer, then I’ll bring you back to your room.”

Gently, she tugged at his tie, her fingers slipping through the silken knot until it released in a long smooth motion from about his neck. He caught her hand against his chest. “Shelagh—  
She shifted her weight, raising up against his chest. “In for a penny, in for a pound, Patrick,” she declared primly. 

He studied her, taking in the tousle of curls that framed her face, the kiss-swollen lips, the naked breasts pressed sweetly against him, and a crooked smile tugged at his mouth. Lifting her hand to his lips, he pressed a kiss to her fingers. “Don’t try to fool me with your Sister Bernadette voice, my love. That could very well be how we got here from the start.”

Her breath caught tight in her chest. Looking for a respite from his searching eyes, she tucked her head beneath his chin. He was right. Sister Bernadette would always be a part of her. 

She lifted her head and kissed him. One by one, she unfastened the buttons of his shirt until she was able to tug it free from his trousers. “I’m completely certain,” she whispered against his mouth.

Their breath mingled in kisses that promised much more, but somehow Patrick resisted. “Shelagh, we have to stop. I don’t...I don’t have any protection.”  
She blinked owlishly at him.

“It’s been years since I’ve kept prophylactics in my bedside table. If we...you could get pregnant, my love.”

In his husky tones she heard hints of Doctor Turner. Wise and caring, he could see the best course and guide even the most unwilling patient to make their best decision. Shelagh knew all too well how convincing he could be in his professional element, but they were far from his surgery.

She pressed her lips together in an effort to suppress a laugh, unaware of how charming her dimples were. She tapped playfully at his chin. “Well, then, I suppose that means you’ll have to marry me!”

He tensed in resistance, but she would have none of it. She slid her hands against the smooth skin of his torso, shifting her weight to rest upon him. Her hips swayed over his in a slow and easy rhythm, stirring the fire inside her again and breaking down the last of his resistance. 

In a swift motion, he was above her, his weight pressing her deeper into the mattress. His kisses were fierce, hot and hungry, and she gasped against his mouth. Conscious thought fled, replaced by carnal instincts. She now knew the ecstasy he could show her. He was there, hard and urgent against her and she needed more. Her legs pulled him even closer, thighs tight about his hips as she peeled away at his braces.

She cried out in frustration, desperate to feel his skin against her naked breast. “Please,” she moaned.

With a grunt, he pushed away from her. She watched as he rose up on his knees and yanked his shirt and vest over his head. She sighed deeply and placed her hand against the smooth skin above his waistband. “Yes.” He swallowed thickly and nodded, then moved away to strip off the rest of his clothes. In a moment he was at her side.  
Pressing a light kiss to her shoulder, he traced his hand down the length of her side, lingering at her hip. He moved closer and she became aware of him pressing against her--naked, solid and very male. A shiver of nerves ran through her as she realized the thin cotton was the last barrier between them, and her passion quieted.  
His hesitation spoke volumes. As far as they had come this night, she knew that Patrick had no expectations of her, and the knowledge filled her with joy. He would not take from her. He would share with her.

“Help me, dearest,” she asked, and she lifted her hips from the bed. He smothered a laugh against her arm and tugged the scrap of fabric from her. 

The raging passion had eased for them both, replaced by tenderness and certainty. Shelagh stroked her fingers over his cheek. He moved above her and settled between her legs, his weight supported on his forearms and she was completely surrounded by him. The strangeness of it all astonished her, and her body tensed. 

“I love you.” The whisper floated over her. He was close, his nose tracing a course over her face before dropping undemanding kisses against her dewy skin. His hands tangled in her hair, massaging her neck, then moving to her shoulders, and the tension began to fade. His touch released her from her fears.

She slid her hands over his back, learning the feel of the long, smooth muscles. He groaned lightly against her hair and she sighed. He was ready for more. He needed more.  
Her legs relaxed and instinctively she pushed her hips up against his, trapping his erection between them. His groan was primal. “I can’t wait, Shelagh.”

“Yes,” she answered. “I’m ready, dearest.”

He kissed her deeply. “Tell me if it hurts.” He shifted again to guide his erection her center and stroked it over the slippery folds. She gasped in surprise. No amount of medical knowledge had prepared her for the fullness of his arousal. His talented fingers had shown her such pleasure, but how could her body ever accept this? Again, she tensed.  
Immediately, he was aware of her change. His body was stiff with the strain of holding back, his chest heaving. “Shall I stop?” he asked.

Her heart swelled. “Don’t stop,” she murmured. “Make me yours, Patrick.”

He released a groan of relief. “Thank God!” 

When he reached her entrance, he paused to kiss her. Gently, he pushed the tip inside her and stopped. She sucked in a deep breath, then slowly released it. Her hands found his shoulders and squeezed. He pushed in just a bit more, and stopped at the resistant flesh. 

The feel of him within her was strange, but not unwelcome. She pulled his face to hers and kissed him deeply. He pushed forward past the resistance, finally embedded in her fully. 

The pain was sharper than she expected, and she hid her face in the lee of his shoulder. Years of training took over, and she steered her powers of concentration away from the ache. She focussed on the sound of his breathy whispers in her ear, the scent of his skin, the feel of his weight upon her and slowly she began to relax around him.  
With each easy thrust, the pain lost more of its sharp edge, and she released a relieved breath. He had already shown her such pleasure, and now, as close as two lovers could be, she could learn to reciprocate. She followed his rhythm and gave herself to his thrusts, thrilled by his desire for her. 

As her confidence grew, so, too, did her boldness. Her hands learned the feel of the long smooth planes of his back, damp with sweat, gliding lower to squeeze the lean muscles of his hips as he moved above her. Finally, she dared look into his face. He was flushed with the exertion of controlling his passion, panting as he propelled himself into her. His need for her was thrilling. 

“I love you, Patrick,” she called to him.

His eyes flew open, and she was dazzled by the joy she saw there. All pain and discomfort disappeared in that moment, and she knew complete union with him.  
She wrapped her legs about his hips, pulling him even closer as she arched her back into him. The change in her body affected him quickly, and he groaned as his hips drove into her, plunging deeply into her again and again. She held him tight to her as he released the last bit of control he had and came inside her. She cried out at the feel of him throbbing inside her, his whole body stiff with ecstasy as his thrusts finally began to slow.

He hovered over her, his breath coming in great drags as he recovered. His arms trembled with the effort of not collapsing upon her, and he dropped his head beside hers on the pillow. “Shelagh,” he panted. “Shelagh.”

She pressed a kiss to his neck. “Patrick,” she answered. 

With a grunt, he pushed away and fell beside her. Bereft of his warm body, Shelagh reached for the blanket pushed to the foot of the bed and covered them both, then nestled in the crook of his arms. 

Peace came over them in the quiet room. In silence, they held each other, naked, no barriers between them. Shelagh sighed contentedly. She was forever changed now. They were forever changed. Nothing would be the same between them. 

“I don’t want you to take you back,” he whispered into her hair.

She smiled against his skin, “You don’t have to.”

He brushed her hair from her face. “Your curfew?” he reminded her.

“Oh, yes, my curfew.” She bit her lip. “I may have rung Mrs. O’reilly up whilst you were out…” her voice trailed off in embarrassment.

“Shelagh?” Patrick tucked a forefinger under her chin and raised her face to his.

“Well, it’s quite understandable, surely, for a GP to be called out...and perhaps need a qualified nurse to stay with him...through the long night...to tend the needs of a patient…”  
Patrick threw his head back in a shout of laughter. “You had this whole thing planned, didn’t you?” He tugged her upon his chest. “How long have you been plotting to seduce me, my love?”

“Patrick Turner! I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to those that helped beta this fic. I am grateful that their patience is greater than my sluggishness.


End file.
